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Koenig was taking a break. He had removed his sandwich board and was eating takeout chasa momo , Himalayan-style chicken dumplings, on the stoop of a brownstone. He’d gotten them from Gurkha Spicy. Free. Perks of the job. They were delicious. Just the right amount of chilli heat. The dumplings had come with a fortune cookie. It said, ‘Enjoy yourself while you can,’ which Koenig thought sounded more threatening than inspirational.

When he saw the three men, he thought ‘Enjoy yourself while you can’ was the kind of thing they might say. It was early evening and they were drunk. Not falling-over drunk, but they’d clearly been drinking all afternoon. Probably had a successful morning doing whatever it was men like them did on Wall Street. Government-approved theft. They wore fitted suits and pink shirts, like a uniform for douchebags. They were glassy-eyed and sweating. People were crossing the street to avoid them.

They were heading directly for him.

The middle one, a squabby man with fat hands, grinned, but it was nasty and mean. He nudged the others and nodded in Koenig’s direction. They spread out and sped up. Their intention couldn’t have been clearer if they’d been wearing Bumfights T-shirts.

Koenig was carrying his Fairbairn–Sykes and his SIG. He wouldn’t need them. These idiots were softer than pudding. He wiped the grease off his hands with a paper napkin. Rolled his shoulders. Mentally rehearsed his first move. Crushing the squabby man’s nose with a headbutt seemed the right thing to do. Put him on the ground, see what the others were made of.

Which was when they saw the girl.

She was a waif of a thing, as thin as a heron’s leg. About five nine with short black hair. She was on the other side of the street and looked like she was heading home after a day’s work. Her head was down and she wore wireless headphones. She walked gracefully, like a ballerina.

The change in the men’s demeanour was immediate. They looked like a cackle of hyenas that had stumbled upon a limping wildebeest. As one they crossed the road. A cab screeched to a halt, but they ignored it.

The girl didn’t notice. She was near the alley by Stillwell Hobbs’s apartment, the one Koenig had worried they didn’t have eyes on. They were going to reach her before he could. If they got her into the alley, by the time he arrived, she’d already have been through something horrific.

Koenig started to run but knew he wouldn’t make it. By the time he’d crossed the street, the men had already reached the girl. The squabby one dragged her into the alley. One of the others pulled two of the dumpsters together and blocked the alley entrance.

Koenig put his head down and sprinted even harder.